


despite all of this

by VagabondDiesel



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:52:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagabondDiesel/pseuds/VagabondDiesel
Summary: Across the kitchen and over a half wall with a scarred wooden top, a cramped living room with stained carpeting was illuminated by the dim light of a standing floor lamp and the harsh glare of a heat bulb mounted above a terrarium. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from the tip of a dying cigarette that lay abandoned in a chipped glass ashtray. 
  
       And in the midst of it all the king of this derelict castle sat atop his throne, a headset as his crown. His fingertips struck a staccato beat across worn plastic keys, weaving a senseless melody from the commands. Every other moment he would murmur into the mouthpiece in a tone so low as to be almost inaudible. Virtual horizons pitched and swayed before his eyes, supplemented by endless streams of numbers and cooldowns. 

       He was all alone, as usual.
  
       Aoba was late, again.
  
       He wasn’t responding to his texts, like always.





	

      The digital display above the oven switched from 0:01 to 0:00 before defaulting to the set time. A harsh electric tone sounded with the transition in conjunction with the click of a solenoid as the internal fans kicked out. It was now 8:23.  
      As the clamor of the white noise faded away, the apartment grew eerily quiet. Across the kitchen and over a half wall with a scarred wooden top, a cramped living room with stained carpeting was illuminated by the dim light of a standing floor lamp and the harsh glare of a heat bulb mounted above a terrarium. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from the tip of a dying cigarette that lay abandoned in a chipped glass ashtray.  
      And in the midst of it all the king of this derelict castle sat atop his throne, a headset as his crown. His fingertips struck a staccato beat across worn plastic keys, weaving a senseless melody from the commands. Every other moment he would murmur into the mouthpiece in a tone so low as to be almost inaudible. Virtual horizons pitched and swayed before his eyes, supplemented by endless streams of numbers and cool downs.  
      The food in the oven was eventually forgotten as minute after minute rolled by despite the querying chirps the appliance faithfully repeated. The lizard in the cage yawned widely, fully extending its beard before it shifted lazily to find a more comfortable position in its bed of sand. 

      8:49. The solitary figure abruptly sat back in the computer seat and stretched before glancing at his phone. The oven chimed again.  
      His chair creaked as it pivoted, its occupant scanning the room to confirm a suspicion that was fast becoming a daily occurrence. 

      He was alone, as usual.  
      Aoba was late, again.  
      He wasn’t responding to his texts, like always. 

      He lit the half-burned cigarette with a practiced spark of his lighter and re-queued. 

      9:38. The door shuddered shut, sweeping a draft of cool air from the hallway into the apartment with the motion. He could hear the hiss of a jacket being removed through the padding of his headset and then the muffled impacts of discarded shoes hitting the floor.  
      The oven chirped again. 

      “Noiz.”  
      He pretended not to hear him. It was almost true, considering that his arena partner was saying something at the same time.  
      “Noiz.”  
      His defense faltered and he took a critical hit almost instantaneously. He scrambled to trigger the heals and shields in his arsenal in an attempt to regain his footing, but before he could stabilize the health readout of his partner plummeted to nothing.  
      “Noiz, I swear to god-” Ire was seeping into Aoba’s voice like venom, the words bristling with poorly concealed aggression.  
      “What.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement, an empty acknowledgement devoid of any actual interest in whatever answer might be received. It was still two against one in the arena but fortune was favoring him and he was dealing out massive damage despite the pummeling he was receiving.  
      “You burnt the damn food.”  
      He didn’t need to look behind him to envision the condemning expression and the way he would be holding the container of cheap lasagne in front of him as if it was an object on display.  
      “Whatever, I’ll eat it.”  
      One opponent fell. One more remained. Aoba was rummaging through the cupboards with a bit more force than was needed, the charred pasta abandoned on the kitchen counter beside him.  
      He exhaled heavily, mumbling an apology to his long-deceased arena partner before tugging the headset around his neck. The chair creaked as he turned. 

      “Where were you?”  
      The question spilled from his lips despite the fact that he knew better than to ask.  
      Aoba’s hand hesitated as he began to empty the last of a gallon of milk that had expired two days ago into a bowl of cereal. It was a pause on the verge of being too minuscule to be noticed at all, one that only spanned the time it took for a heart to beat or an eye to blink.  
      “I had to run some errands after work.”  
      Yeah. Sure. 

      The chair creaked again as he got to his feet and crossed the living room. The abrupt motion startled the bearded dragon into some state of wakefulness and it tracked his progress balefully.  
      “Jesus-” Aoba almost spilled his excuse of a dinner as his personal space was invaded. He wasn’t afforded the chance to form a coherent protest before his chin was turned roughly and his lips were forced apart to accommodate a probing tongue. Aoba relaxed almost immediately under the attentions, compliantly offering his mouth to the other’s demands.  
      He tasted like alcohol and something sweet. Aoba was soft and welcoming, an agonizingly wonderful sensation that could only remind him of everything that he had ever wished for and everything that he could never have. 

      Why did he have to keep doing this?  
      Why couldn’t he be enough? 

      At one point, he had faltered to a stop. The moment broken, they parted, drawing far enough away so that he could see those gentle blue eyes shining with concern, scanning his own expression with brows drawn together in the lightest of frowns.  
      Like he hadn’t just stumbled in six hours after his shift had ended.  
      Like everything was fine.  
      Like he wasn’t living through some sick mockery of a fracturing paradise. 

      “Why?” The question escaped him in an exhalation, almost inaudible despite the suffocating silence choking the room.  
      “What?” The confusion in Aoba’s expression never quite faded even as guilt overtook it. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to reach out to him, on the verge of bridging the growing distance severing their embrace. He hesitated instead. 

      He forced himself to look him in the eyes, hoping that the turmoil in his mind wasn’t broadcasting itself across his features. He knew that he couldn’t let him know how much this was affecting him. Why that was so imperative? He didn’t have the time to think of a reasonable explanation, so he opened his mouth again, another ill-advised question spilling out even as he regretted asking it.  
      “Why do you keep doing this?” 

      Aoba steeled in response before breaking away from his grasp completely.  
      “How many times do we have to talk about this?” There was a cold fury in his voice, weighing his words with unwarranted malice.  
      “How many fucking times, Noiz?”  


      Something in his chest felt like it was crumbling. It was a sensation not unlike casually watching great sections of a cliff falling away into the depths below and realizing that you had no other footing.  
      “Nevermind. Forget about it.”  
      He didn’t have the energy to fight against the baseless accusation in those eyes. This was pointless. He retrieved his cigarettes from his desk on his way out the door. Aoba hated it when he smoked in the apartment.  
      The door swung shut behind him with the finality of a gavel strike. He hadn’t been drinking but he caught himself wishing he had been as he fumbled to dig a lighter out of the pocket of his sweatshirt. It fell in the snow and he retrieved it with bare fingers, swearing under his breath as he felt the flakes melt to a chilling liquid when they made contact with his bare skin. 

      Always.  
      It was always like this.  


      He lit the tobacco and took a long drag, pulling too hard and burning his throat with the cheap, pungent smoke. He exhaled forcefully, making a point to steady his breathing before bringing the cigarette to his lips again.  
      He hadn’t bothered with a coat and it didn’t take long for the shivering to start in the subzero temperatures. He couldn’t stay out for too long as he was, yet everything within him balked at the prospect of going back inside to face Aoba again. He knew that his car keys were inside but he checked his pockets for them anyway.  
      It was better for him to stay anyway. He was too old for that type of game and they had been together long enough for him to know that it would only end disappointingly. He knew all too well that at the end of the night, nobody would go searching for him and nobody would lose any sleep over his absence. So why waste the effort? It was late and he was tired. 

      The moon shone brightly amidst her mantle of stars, illuminating the carpeted landscape of the inner city in cool blue light.  
      Aoba was just like that, wasn’t he? The colors were even right. He had always been so captivating, yet so far out of reach. No matter how close they drew together, he would always be caught up in an orbit that never quite intersected with his own.  
      There had been a time where he had thought that as long as that beautiful satellite returned to him at the end of the night he could be content.  
But as the years rolled by, they eroded those reserves more and more with each passing season. These days, it felt as if he were being starved despite the fact that not many aspects of his life had actually changed since Aoba’s belongings had begun to accumulate in his apartment.  
      That was the most corrosive thing, wasn’t it? Every morning he woke up, freshened up, and went to work - just as he always had. And most nights he slept tangled in the embrace of the person that he had always admired the most. Wasn’t that enough? 

      It couldn’t be. Not when the damaging display from earlier repeated itself time and time again.  
      And yet, he couldn’t find the strength to end it. It would be as simple as driving away and never coming back or a text message and a change of the locks. Aoba wouldn’t fight for their relationship - he’d be gone the next day without so much as a text back or a proper goodbye.  
      Not that it mattered, because he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those things. 

      Maybe one day Aoba would realize how steadfast he had remained throughout the turmoil of their relationship. Perhaps one day he would recognize all of the sacrifices that had been made for his sake, and then maybe these painful games would cease.  
      He was deceiving himself and he knew it. Entertaining such possibilities was a waste of time. The burning remains of his cigarette hissed as he ground it out underfoot. This was the way it would always be. Don’t think about it too much, don’t let it get to you. Everything will be fine as long as you don’t feel anything.  
      Christ, he wanted to get drunk. 

      By the time he returned inside, the apartment was dark and Aoba was nowhere to be seen. He opened the fridge to see if any loose cans of beer were sitting around, but he found a tray of burnt lasagna instead. A portion from the middle had been cut out, saran wrapped, and packed in a tupperware container along with a bag of chips, some napkins, and a can of his favorite soda.  
      He had packed him lunch for tomorrow.  
      He let the door swing shut silently as a feeling of agonized pleasure overtook him. It was moments like these that made it so hard for him to see things clearly. 

      He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the hard studs of the piercings there roll between his fingers. He was fine. This was fine. It shouldn’t matter that Aoba was gone more often than he was home. It shouldn’t bother him when he came back with the taste of somebody else on his lips. There was never any commitment between them that could be betrayed, no promises that had been broken.  
      And yet… 

      That feeling was back again, warming his heart to the point of burning it alive. 

everything  
was  
fine 

      His pajamas were draped over the bathroom counter where he had left them. It felt good to replace the constraining sensation of his jeans with the broken-in coarseness of old flannel.  
      The bedroom door creaked as he opened it, casting a slim beam of light across the prone figure sprawled across his mattress. The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles, sending faint motion through the long strands of cerulean splayed out across the sheets. Aoba was curled loosely on his side facing the wall with his headphones clamped tightly around his ears. Fragments of a broken ballad leaked from the padding at a tempo that was at odds with his steady exhalations. 

      He slipped between the covers with as much grace as he could muster, doing his best to avoid disturbing him. A weighted sigh escaped him as he settled into a comfortable position.

everything was fine  
they were fine  
don't think about it  
  
don't think about it  
  
  
don't  
  
  
  
think  
  
about  
  
  
  
it  
  
  



End file.
